


Forever and Always

by Embracingtheplotbunnies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, game of thrones
Genre: AU, Angst, Diverges from canon, F/M, Game of Thrones spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Soul Bond, kind of, show ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-12-12 20:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11744466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embracingtheplotbunnies/pseuds/Embracingtheplotbunnies
Summary: After a battle goes wrong, Jon and Dany find themselves forced to make a soul bond-complicating a relationship that's already more complicated than it should be. But the bond has unexpected consequences-making each other their literal strengths and weaknesses. Now they have to fight the Battle for the Dawn while coping with a growing romance and an uncertain future.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first multi chapter story for GOT in a long time! 
> 
> This is an idea that came to me watching 7x04-and since I was already looking for an idea for a multi chapter I thought it would work out well, especially since it's an idea I've always wanted to try writing but never had the chance to. 
> 
> I'm hoping to update weekly, 10-12 chapters because I do a lot of other writing for the GOT (particularly) fandom and I have to make sure this doesn't interfere with all of that. It will primarily focus on Dany and Jon-there will be other characters involved but for the most part there will be only 2 major POVs. Diverges from canon during 7x04, as you'll see, and will probably go through the Battle of the Dawn-with a sort of twist, as you'll see after the first chapter. 
> 
> Game of Thrones spoilers from season 7 up to 7x4! Don't read until you've watched that episode, please. 
> 
> As always you can find me on tumblr @blue-roses-in-a-wall-of-ice and I'm planning to make a sideblog that's just for all my fics so I'll definitely tell you about that when I get it up and running. Disclaimer: I don't own anything obviously.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

She saw the arrow just before it hit home. 

At first she didn’t know what it was; nothing could hurt her dragons, no arrow could even come close to penetrating their tough scales. But this one could-and did-and suddenly Drogon was falling, plummeting from the sky ungracefully, crying out in pain, and it was all she could do to hold on. It was the first time she’d ever feared for her life while on his back. Her fingers dug in so hard she could practically feel the scales tearing at her palms and her breath came out in ragged gasps. Her pulse pounded somewhere in her throat and she felt dizzy and sick as the ground suddenly seemed to rush up to meet her much too fast. 

Drogon finally managed to pull up, beating his wings slightly to keep him upright-but he came to a sudden stop and she lost her grip. She kept falling, feeling the rush of air in her ears and getting a confused view of sky, sun, and the still flaming battlefield, until she hit the ground. Her brain rattled in her skull and everything went suddenly and blissfully dark. 

 

The battle had been won-but at a cost. The Dothraki had been fast-they’d taken the Queen as soon as she’d fallen, before the Lannisters could take her back to King’s Landing, but Tyrion worried they hadn’t been fast enough. She was limp and unresponsive for the entire trip back to Dragonstone; they made her as comfortable as they could first in the carriage and then on the boat, but she barely stirred. In fact, he had to keep checking her pulse to make sure she was still alive at all. 

He couldn’t stop seeing it, every time he let his mind wander even for just a few minutes-how the spear had ripped through the air and there had been those few moments of terrifying free fall, until Drogon had managed to pull up just in time. The fall hadn’t been as great as it could have been, but it had still been dangerously long-he suspected that the Queen was lucky to still be alive. 

He’d told her, again and again, that it would be dangerous, that she was too important to risk. And still she’d done it anyway. She’d insisted on going into battle...and now they’d almost lost her. 

He knew there was a chance that they still would. He couldn’t tell who he was more upset at-her for coming along, the Lannister army for attacking her, or himself for not making her stay at Dragonstone making love eyes at Lord Snow. He’d made too many mistakes in the past few weeks-he had to focus, or one of his failures would be irreparable. 

Maybe one already was. 

“Your Grace.” He tried again, halfheartedly, to wake her up. A cut on the side of her forehead was jagged and red, staining her silver golden hair-but other than that she was unharmed. He didn’t know much about head injuries and the Dothraki knew little and less, but he knew the problem was far worse than it at first let on. And he didn’t have the faintest idea how to cure it. “Your Grace, please, we’re almost at Dragonstone-”

She didn’t stir. Her breathing was even and her heart rate was steady; she could have been sleeping, if the situation wasn’t so sinister. 

The boat came to a juddering halt on the beach and they disembarked carefully. One of the Dothraki generals picked her up gently, almost tenderly; she almost looked like a child, compared to him. He growled something at Tyrion in harsh Dothraki that he almost didn’t pick up on; he was learning how to speak the fierce, gutteral language but he was nowhere near fluency. 

He managed to say "Take her to her bedchambers. Someone will examine her there" with little difficulty. At least, he assumed he had because the general didn’t look at him strangely, like that time he’d said ‘sex’ when he’d meant to say ‘furniture’. 

Jon Snow and Davos rushed to meet him on the beach and he found that the last thing he wanted to do was talk to them and explain his failure yet again. “Where’s the Queen?” Davos asked.

“The battle was successful but Queen Daenerys was...injured during the fight. She fell from her dragon’s back.” 

They looked just as shocked as he felt. She was supposed to be out of danger. Nothing was supposed to happen to her. She should have been fine. She certainly shouldn’t have been on death’s door now. “Will she be all right?” 

Jon seemed too shocked to say anything.

Might as well just tell the truth, he thought. “I don’t know.” It came out harsher than he’d meant it to; he knew that the Onion Knight and the self proclaimed King in the North were good men. He just had neither the time nor the patience for them at the moment. “We’re having a maester examine her as we speak.” He turned away, wondering if they would follow him. Not surprisingly, they did. 

They hadn’t gotten more than a few feet into the castle when Missandei practically ran into them. Her eyes were blazing. “How could you let this happen to her?” Her voice was pitched low, glancing at the two Northerners carefully, but her fury bled through. 

“The Lannisters had a crossbow...I don’t know how it works, I swear I didn’t know they would have it-”

Missandei practically threw her hands up in disgust. “And how long has she been this way?”

“Hours. Ever since her fall.”

“You’d better hope she wakes up.” The threat in her voice was clear and maybe it was the stress of the moment but it almost made Tyrion want to laugh; finally, the Queen’s advisor was showing the fire that made her and Dany such good friends in the first place. They both had the best of intentions-and they were fiercely protective of each other. 

“Believe me, Missandei, if I’d wanted to kill her I would have found an easier way than this.” 

“If she hadn’t lost her allies-”

“Sooner or later something like this would have happened anyway. My sister isn’t one to lie down and accept defeat-as soon as she knew that Daenerys had dragons, she would have been concocting a plan.” What could he say to apologize for it? What was there to say in the first place? 

They’d almost reached the Queen’s bedchambers and Jon and Davos were noticeably quiet. Jon’s face went an odd shade of purple when he realized where they were headed and again Tyrion had the odd sensation of wanting to laugh, if only to relieve some of the stress. “Don’t worry, Lord Snow. I’m sure she has other things on her mind than seducing you, at the moment.” 

Missandei shot him another look that made him edge away a couple of steps. 

The Queen’s bedroom was flooded with light; someone had opened the curtains and the fading sunlight played over her face. Her eyes were closed, her skin smooth; she’d been propped up on a mountain of pillows and if her eyes were open she would have been able to see the setting sun. Her coloring was paler than normal but she looked mostly unharmed; Dragonstone’s maester stood at her bedside wringing his hands. Tyrion’s heart dropped like a stone. “What is it? What did you find?”

The maester cleared his throat. “My lord, I’m not sure-”

“What. Did. You. Find?” 

“There is some damage to her brain from when she fell. I cannot tell when...or if...she will wake.” 

The words hung in the air sickeningly and Tyrion felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Truth be told, he’d known the words were coming. He’d just chosen to ignore them because they couldn’t have gotten this far only to be stopped as abruptly, as savagely, as this. “And...there is nothing you can do for her?”

“At the moment? No. We keep her comfortable and we wait and see what happens next. I have a few potions I can try, though I doubt they’ll do much good.”

There was a long moment of tense silence-and then Missandei turned and left, heels clicking on the stone floor. Her shoulders were tense and set and the anger radiated off of her in waves. Tyrion couldn’t blame her; he wanted to make an exit himself, preferably to drink himself into oblivion. “You will alert me if anything in her condition changes.”

“As you wish, my lord.” 

I failed her, he thought. He couldn’t look at her; instead, he brushed past Jon Snow and left the room. He knew he'd failed them all; however much Missandei blamed him, hated him, she couldn't possibly blame him more than he blamed himself. “The Red Priestess was wrong. Heroes can die like anyone else.”

 

The evening meal was tense and silent. Neither one of them said anything. Why should they, when there was nothing to say? 

“Your Grace…” Davos picked at his piece of meat, not looking at Jon. “I know you were growing to care for the Queen-”

“There’s no point in it, Davos.” He couldn’t contemplate it. They’d lost a potential ally-and most likely, her dragons. They’d most likely lost the war in the North too. 

“But-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He would have to write a letter to Sansa and tell her what had happened. And then he would have to head home. He would have to abandon Tyrion and Missandei and the rest of the Queen’s forces. Of course, he would offer them amnesty in the North but he doubted they would take it. They would take vengeance against Cersei until one side was defeated, and he couldn’t blame them; if someone had hurt or killed Sansa, he didn’t know how he’d be able to stop himself from getting revenge. 

But he was surprised to find that he was upset for another reason-for the Queen herself. Maybe Davos was right-maybe he had been growing to care for her. Maybe he’d begun to notice things about her without realizing he was looking for them; the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, the way she sometimes tapped her fingers on the Painted Table when she was sure no one was watching, how she would sometimes look at him as if they were in on a secret no one else knew. He remembered guiding her arm in the dragonglass cave, how warm feeling had fizzed through his veins and it had been all he could do not to let it show on his face. 

He’d wanted to kiss her then. And now he would never get a chance to. 

Though he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. He lived in a world where happy endings were rare as falling stars, and the only reward to be gotten for good intentions was a dagger through the heart. 

A dagger through the heart...He startled, almost spitting out a mouthful of water as realization hit. “Ser Davos, do you know why the Queen summoned us here, to meet her?”

“I can’t say that I do. I suppose word must have reached her-”

“Yes, but she could have simply asked us to pledge loyalty. But she wanted us to come here, to meet with her and tell her our story, even before she knew about the dragonglass…” The more he thought about it, the more he thought he saw the picture adding up-and the one person who was sure to be at the center of it. He got up so quickly he almost knocked his chair over; when Davos asked him what was wrong he didn’t answer. It took all the composure he had not to run out of the room right then-but he took the stairs two at a time once he was safely out of view. 

He practically ran into Varys on the stairwell. The Spider’s face was uncharacteristically pale and drawn, and when he saw Jon he only raised an eyebrow and said half sarcastically “Lord Snow?”

“Lord Varys, did a...red priestess from Asshai, a servant of the Lord of Light, pass through Dragonstone recently?”

The eyebrow arched higher. “As a matter of fact, yes. One did, not long before you arrived. She believed in the White Walkers, just as you do. She insisted the Queen summon you, so you could tell her what you’d seen in the North. A lot of good that turned out to be, didn’t it?”

“Where did she go? Is she here still?”

“She said she had to leave the island-apparently she has to go back to Essos-”

This time he didn’t bother not sprinting down the stairs. He knew there was a good chance he was already too late, that he’d missed his chance...but he had to try. He owed that to her at least. 

 

He rode hard until he reached the nearest (and only) port city. There were two outgoing ships leaving for Essos in the morning; apparently the Targaryen armada had made it hard for ships to leave the harbor so they had both been delayed by several days. He spoke to both of the captains and received confirmation from one that there was indeed a red priestess on board, who had bought a one way ticket to Volantis and not given her name-but she was not currently on the ship. 

Jon scoured the town itself-the bars, the few closed down shops, even (for a few minutes) the brothel. Just as he was about to give up hope and go wait on the ship itself, he realized that there was one last tavern he’d forgotten to check-a dingy, filthy establishment with grime on the windows and a fading sign outside that read The Whistling Swan in letters that looked older than he was. It was empty but for the silent and hairy bartender and a single patron in red robes-already looking towards the door as if she’d been expecting him.

He’d never been happier to see Melisandre in his entire life. 

“Lord Snow. The Lord of Light told me that I should not leave the island just yet...and I see that this time I was right.” She took a sip of red wine; it stained her lips like blood and when she smiled there was an almost cruel edge to it. It sent a shiver running down Jon’s spine and made him wish she’d chosen a more public bar; this was the same woman who had murdered Stannis Baratheon’s daughter and committed so many other atrocities, and for what purpose? Because her god had told her to? Maybe he was making a mistake. “What can I help you with?” She gestured to the empty chair across from her. “Sit down. I won’t bite.” 

Reluctantly, he sat. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“A favor? What sort of favor?”

“When I was...dead...you saved me. Now I need you to do it again, to someone else.”

“I don’t make a habit of practicing necromancy, Jon Snow. It’s a dark and ugly magic. Yours was a special case. I can’t just go around bringing people back to life whenever I’d like to-”

“But she’s not dead. Not yet. You’d only have to heal her, and bring her back from the brink.”

She arched one perfectly manicured eyebrow and took another sip of wine. “She? Well, this is getting interesting, isn’t it?”

“While in combat, Daenerys was injured and the maesters don’t know if she will wake. If there’s anything you can do...I don’t know how I can win the war against the Night King without her-”

“I suppose I can accompany you back to the castle and see if all is as lost as you say it is.” He practically felt himself let out a sigh of relief. “However...I require a promise from you first.”

“What is it?” 

“I want your word that no one will harm me when I am at Dragonstone-not the Onion Knight, no one.”  
“Done.”

“And safe passage to Essos when the task is completed.”

“As you wish.”

She smiled. It would have been a lovely smile, if it hadn’t been masking something bitter and almost cruel. “Wonderful. If it is in my lord’s wishes, I will help her however I can.” 

He paid for her drinks without being asked and they left, riding hard and fast back to Dragonstone. Jon hoped they weren’t already too late. 

 

“She can do what?”

“She has a certain...luck when it comes hopeless cases. I wouldn’t be standing here without her.”

Tyrion looked at Melisandre uncertainly, who had the hood of her cape pulled up against the evening chill and seemed to be examining one of the dragon carvings on the walls very carefully. “And you’re certain she can help the queen?”

“Not at all. But...she helped me when I was beyond saving. Perhaps...Lord Tyrion, if you don’t mind my saying so, we don’t really have anything to lose.”

“You trust her?”

“To be quite honest? No. But it’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than letting her die!” His voice rose on the last word and it echoed around the main hall with an ugly finality. 

That, more than anything, seemed to convince Tyrion because he nodded once and said “And just why are you doing all of this, Lord Snow? Queen Daenerys means nothing to you. What do you stand to gain from this?”

“I need her in the fight against the oncoming storm. We all do.” He left it at that.

Tyrion hesitated for a long moment. “Fine. I’ll take you upstairs. But if anything...fishy happens, you’ll stop her right away. I know her kind, and I know what they can do.” There was an almost chiding look in his eyes that Jon decided to ignore. “I won’t condemn her to a fate worse than death.”

Years ago, Jon might have questioned what could be worse than death. Now he was all too aware. “Neither will I, my Lord.” Even so, they proceeded up the stairwell in silence. 

Dany hadn’t changed in the few hours since they’d been back-maybe she’d gone a little paler, but she looked for all the world as if she was sleeping. He still felt a shock seeing her that way, seeing all of her energy gone and depleted. It frightened him, almost more than anything else. 

Melisandre examined her carefully, standing on one side of the bed first and then crossing to the other. She muttered something under her breath that Jon couldn’t hear, running a hand down the side of Dany’s face and resting it on her clasped hands. When she turned back to the two men, her expression was inscrutable. “She is fading quickly, but the damage is not beyond repair.” Jon felt his entire body sag against the wall in relief. “I believe that I can save her.” 

“How?” Tyrion asked quietly.”

“For a price.” She cocked her head slightly, as if listening to the waves breaking on the shore. “I’ve heard you’re good with puzzles, Lord Tyrion. Answer me this-do two nearly dead people make a whole one?”

His voice was tinged with annoyance, low and dangerous. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Perhaps not-but even I cannot perform the same miracle twice.” Now she turned to Jon. “What are you willing to sacrifice for her, Jon Snow?”

“What are you asking me to sacrifice?” A chill ran down his spine. Was she asking him to trade his life for hers? Could he do that to his people? Sansa would kill him if she ever found out. 

“I’m asking you to bond yourself to her. Now and always. Bringing you back...it took nearly everything I had. You can’t understand how much power it takes to bring back a human being from beyond the grave, but I did. Now you need to share some of that power with her, if you want her to survive.”

“Bond...how?”

“The two of you would be connected, intrinsically, for the rest of your life. Your happiness will be hers, and her sorrows yours. You will suffer each other’s pain and share each other’s joy. You will give each other a part of yourself-a part that can never be given back or taken away. It is not a decision to take lightly, Lord Snow; once you commit to it, you cannot take it back. Breaking a soul bond would kill you both instantly.” 

He could feel both of their eyes on him, but he couldn’t look. He couldn’t think. “So...if someone hurts me then they could also hurt her?”

“And vice versa. You can draw on each other’s strengths to make you stronger, but in turn you’ll become more vulnerable. You will be two separate people, but you will share a piece of your life force. That is the only way you can save her. The decision is yours, Jon Snow-but we don’t have much time.”

This had to be a dream. Soul bonds? Life force? They didn’t exist. But then again, what other explanation could he give for his continued existence?

He could feel Tyrion’s eyes on him, probably waiting for him to refuse. After all, he barely knew Daenerys Targaryen. What reason should he have to want to save her, to make a sacrifice that she might not have wanted to make if their roles were reversed.

But he knew what he would say before he could even talk himself through it, before he could weigh the pros and cons. Too much was at stake to not do anything. He couldn’t let her die, not if he wanted to save everyone else he cared about.

And quite frankly, he didn’t want her to die either.

He only looked at her face as he said “I’ll do it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies on this being a little late-I meant to post it on Sunday but I've been swamped with prompts on Tumblr (blue-roses-in-a-wall-of-ice) and I didn't have time to get around to writing this until later. 
> 
> I'm glad you all enjoyed the first chapter! It's certainly a different premise than anything I've written before...this one is not very action heavy at all; I still need to set up the story a bit more; I want the story to be a semi slow burn (while also not being ridiculously long).

There was no time to think it through, no time to voice his regrets even if he’d had any. They sprang into action immediately; Melisandre pulled up a chair next to Dany’s bedside and ushered him into it and Tyrion did his best to stay away. He still looked shocked, as if he couldn’t quite believe Jon had agreed to it. 

Though to be fair, Jon didn’t either. 

“Take her hand,” Melisandre said, closing the door and pulling the curtains shut. The room was plunged into sudden darkness, lit only by a candle here and there; it added another level of seriousness to the whole affair and suddenly made everything seem much more real and dangerous. Jon obeyed, sliding into the chair and taking the Queen’s hand in his own. It was smaller than he’d thought it would be, soft and smooth, and warm to the touch as if she was running a fever. Daenerys didn’t so much as stir. _This had better work_. “Close your eyes.” 

Reluctantly, he did. 

Melisandre began chanting under her breath and he heard her footsteps circling, sometimes stepping closer to the bed, other times walking away. The words were in a language he’d never heard before but it still sent shivers down his spine. _This is the only way. If we lose this chance, we’ll get no better_. 

Something cold and wet dripped onto the back of his hand and the back of his neck. He felt the Red Witch’s hand on his forehead, making some invisible symbol he couldn’t see-and then she stepped away, voice fading. 

“Will it hurt?” His voice was barely a whisper; feeling suddenly terrified because this was something so beyond anything he’d ever experienced before, anything he could believe. Melisandre didn’t say anything, probably wondering why he hadn’t asked that before she’d started the ritual. 

His hand suddenly warmed, until Dany’s hand felt like it was burning hot. He tried to pull away, but he couldn’t; his skin felt tight and strained and he found he couldn’t move, frozen in his chair. The warmth spread up his arm, into his chest, his head, his legs, his feet, his very core of being until it felt like he was being consumed by fire. It didn’t hurt; it was barely even uncomfortable-but fear still throbbed dully in the back of his head. 

And then, abruptly, the heat disappeared-and he could move again. He let out a ragged exhale and wrenched his hand away, expecting to see a burn mark where his skin had touched Dany’s-but his skin was smooth and unblemished. The only indication that anything strange had happened at all was a mark on the bottom of his palm; a tiny scar. He might not have paid attention to it, if Dany hadn’t had a similar one in the same place. “I don’t feel any different-”

“Lady Melisandre,” Tyrion said tersely from the other side of the room, “if you have done anything to harm either one of them I swear to you I will-”

Just then Dany sat up with a ragged gasp and Jon’s head exploded with white hot pain. 

 

Her head felt as though it was being torn to pieces. 

She felt suddenly, strangely, alive. The candlelight seemed to glow so brightly it hurt her eyes and the covers of her bed were so soft she thought she could sink into them. The very air itself seemed to be vibrating around her and her vision blurred once or twice until she finally managed to steady herself. But her brain was a different problem altogether; it felt scraped and raw, as if it had been torn apart and put back together at random by someone who had no idea what it had looked like in the first place. “What happened?” Her voice was shaky and barely more than a croak; briefly she registered that there were three other people in the room but that was all she could make out. Hadn’t she been in battle, on Drogon’s back? What happened? Where were the soldiers, the smoke, the smell of fire on the air as Drogon scorched a hole through the the opposing army’s ranks? Why was it dark outside? 

A chill ran down her spine. How much time had passed? 

“You’re safe, your Grace.” One of the figures-the red priestess, Melisandre of Asshai, she realized dimly-was speaking in a low voice and had crossed to her side, keeping her movements even and calm as if trying not to spook a small child or a frightened animal. “On Dragonstone. There was an accident. You fell from your dragon’s back and were gravely injured.”

The memories came flashing back-the arrow, the fear she’d felt, how she’d fallen and hit the ground so hard she’d tasted blood in her mouth. She’d blacked out completely; there was a block of time, perhaps even a day, that she had no recollection of. That frightened her more than anything else. But it would explain why her head hurt so badly. Gingerly she reached up and touched a cut near her hairline-only to wince with pain as her head was wracked with new waves of agony. “But...I’m all right now?”

Tyrion cleared his throat and looked at the other person in the room, Jon-who was extremely pale and looked like he was going to be sick. “Not quite, your Grace.” He glared at Melisandre, his eyes unreadable, until the red priestess finally spoke again. 

“There were some complications, your Grace. In the fall, you damaged your brain quite severely and the maester believed that you would never wake up. Jon Snow summoned me to see if I could save you and I did-for a price.”

Jon had saved her? But for what purpose? He’d had to have some kind of ulterior motive. “What price? What did he promise you?”

“A soul bond, your Grace,” Jon said quietly. He wouldn’t look at her. 

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting to hear-a sum of money, or perhaps a promise to contest her right to the throne-but a soul bond had been the last thing on her mind. “I...what?”

“It’s a very old magic,” Melisandre continued. She shifted so she was speaking to both of them, glancing at each of them in turn. “I’ve seen a few warlocks in Asshai do it, but very few ever completed it successfully. The rate of failure is disastrously high.” This did nothing to settle her already upset stomach. “When done correctly they can be very powerful, allowing the participants to be able to draw upon the strength of others in times of desperate need or communicate over great distances. But they can also be dangerous, because the bonded share vulnerabilities as well. If one is hurt, the other can easily be hurt also. And if a soul bond is severed-for example, if one of you were to die-the other would die instantaneously. But it was the only thing I could do. Lord Snow agreed to bond himself to you and share a bit of his life force-enough to make yours whole again.”

This had to be a dream. She would go back to sleep and wake up and find that she’d dreamt everything since the night before the battle. There were no soul bonds, no near misses, no deaths. 

_If only that were the case_. 

She practically jumped out of her skin. Jon’s voice had sounded clearly in her head...but his lips hadn’t moved. He wasn’t even looking at her. She hadn’t spoken aloud, had she? Or had she been hurt worse than she realized? 

He turned to look at her suddenly, the same confusion she felt mirrored in his own eyes. _Did you...say something_? 

His lips weren’t moving. How could his lips not be moving? 

_I don’t know. I have no idea what’s going on_. 

_Are you...reading my mind?_ She tried to calm the din in her head and focus  
.   
_I’m not trying to_. In a way, she thought she could sense him-his fear and confusion, none of it resolving itself into words the way the others had. She was hyper aware of him next to her, where his hands rested in his lap and his feet tapped absently on the floor-whenever he moved or shifted, even just a little bit, she felt something in her body tune into his movements. 

“Your Grace...s?” 

“Why can I read his mind?” 

Melisandre looked uncomfortable now. “You’ll...learn to cope with it in time, your Grace. Eventually you’ll be able to learn how to...turn it off, so to speak, if you don’t want it.” 

_Gods_. She’d never realized before how hard it was to not think anything at all. “And the bond is...forever?”

“As long as you both shall live.”

She dropped back onto the pillows, closing her eyes against the agony in her skull. “Leave me, please. You too, Lord Snow. I would like to talk to my Hand alone.” 

Melisandre looked uncertain for a moment-but thankfully for her she didn’t argue. “Very well, my Queen. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to stay in Dragonstone for the night-"

“Talk to the Unsullied. There are plenty of extra bedrooms.” She felt confused, dizzy, and sick and the last thing she wanted to do was to deal with anyone else. “I’m sure they’d be happy to get you whatever you need.”

Jon stood up and left the room before she could tell him to, without saying a word. 

As soon as he was out of earshot (although she supposed that didn’t matter anymore), Tyrion closed the door behind him. “Are you all right, your Grace?”

“Honestly? No.” She closed her eyes but it did nothing to quiet her racing head or pounding heart. “I don’t suppose you know anything about soul bonds, Lord Tyrion?”

“I’ll have the maesters look into it, but I don’t know how much good it will do. We can’t do anything about it now, if we don’t want to risk your lives.” 

She sighed. “I don’t remember anything after the fall...but why would Jon Snow do something like this? What did he ask for? Did you promise him anything? Our armies? Our ships? Our weapons?”

“I would never do that to you. We thought that you had died. We were going to give up on you. But...he convinced us not to. He rode all the way to the port at Dragonstone and found Melisandre. I never asked him to. When he said he had a way to save you…”

“I just don’t understand...surely I can’t be that important to the war that he seems to think is coming? Why would he waste an opportunity to rid himself of another enemy-”

“Why don’t you ask him? Test out your mind link?” She could tell he was trying not to let his curiosity get the better of him; no doubt he had as little idea about what her bond could do as she did.

“I don’t want to.” The whole idea felt foreign and invasive; she knew where he was, somehow (outside, walking the ramparts of the castle restlessly) and his thoughts were a general drone in the back of her head-though she wasn’t concentrating hard enough to pick out individual words. There was something almost voyeuristic about it and it made her not want to be around him; what could she say to someone who had sacrificed part of himself just to save her? “It just...it doesn’t feel right.”

He cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, your Grace, but there are worse people to be bonded to than Lord Snow.” They sat in silence for a while, in the gathering darkness. She risked brushing her finger over her forehead again and shrank away with pain. “It will be better, with time.”

“I’m scared,” she whispered, not able to look at him. This would change everything; it bound her to Lord Snow in a way that couldn’t be easily broken. He couldn’t go back to Winterfell and they would go their separate ways. They would forever be connected, in the most intimate of ways. More intimate than even a marriage vow. 

“We all are,” Tyrion replied. “But...you’re alive. We can deal with the rest as it comes, as long as we have a queen to rally behind.” He brushed a strand of hair out of her face almost tenderly and took a step back, shutting the curtains so moonlight no longer streamed into the room and patterned on her skin. “Try and get some sleep, your Highness. It’s been a very long day.”

“I’ll try.” It was the last thing she wanted to do, but she knew he had a point-she was injured and suffering a major shock. Things would be better when she woke up. 

At least, she hoped they would be. 

 

Jon sensed when she fell asleep. His head quieted and he felt he could finally breathe again, normally, without worrying that she could hear his every thought. 

He sat down on the ramparts and looked up at the stars, feeling deflated and boneless. His head was still filled with a searing pain and the mark on his hand burned. Not for the first time, he wondered if he had made a mistake-if something could still go wrong, something that would doom them both. 

He wanted to search out Melisandre and pepper her with questions but she’d disappeared into one of the spare bedrooms and he knew better than to wake her up. So he wandered outside, letting the cool air and the calls of the dragons over the water calm him in the small ways it could. 

What would Sansa say, when he wrote to her and told her the news? He’d met the Dragon Queen...and then, in a matter of weeks, they’d ended up bonded in a way he hadn’t known was possible. And he didn’t think that things could back to the way they’d always been, if their lives were so intrinsically tied together now. She’d be upset with him and would ask him again and again why he’d done it, and he wouldn’t know what to tell her. They weren’t even allies. They weren’t enemies, but they certainly weren’t friends. 

There just hadn’t been another option. He’d understood that, but he had no idea if she would. 

There was a scuffle from behind him and he turned to find Davos coming up the stairs. “Apologies if I interrupted you, your Grace. You look unwell.”

Davos had to know, if no one else did. “You won’t be happy with me.”

“And why not?”

“I made a...decision without consulting you first.”

“All right then. How bad was it?”

“That’s still to be determined. The Queen and I have a soul bond.”

It took a while to explain it all and even longer to convince Davos not to go off and murder Melisandre while she slept. 

“No wonder your head hurts,” was all he said when Jon finished talking. “That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there.”

Instinctively, Jon raised a hand to his brow-and was alarmed when he found a cut near his hairline that he would have remembered getting. “I don’t…”

It hit him suddenly. He didn’t have that injury-but the Queen did. And hadn’t Melisandre said they would bear each other’s pain?

“Would it be fair to say the Queen has one just like it?” Davos asked. His voice was measured and even; Jon couldn’t tell if there was curiosity or disappointment in his tone. 

“She does. Although hers is much worse.” It seemed that his wound was superficial-a representation of the injury, more than an exact copy. “So...what do you think? Do you believe me?”

“If I believe you that an army of the undead are coming to murder us all, I suppose a soul bond shouldn’t be too far out of the realm of possibility...but if it has the power that you say it does, I’m not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse.” 

“Neither am I. But you know as well as I do that without her-”

“We fail automatically. We might as well burn ourselves before the Night King has a chance to resurrect us. You made the decision you had to make, the one that would do the most good for your people. That’s what a good king does, your Grace.” 

Somehow, it didn’t seem like the right choice. “But I don’t know what to do now. I can hear her thoughts sometimes.” 

Davos sighed. “Well, you’ll have to talk it over with her at some point I’d imagine. See if you can’t establish some...rules or something.” He shook his head, and Jon couldn’t tell very well in the dark but it looked like he was about to start laughing. 

“What is it? What is it about this that you can possibly find funny?”

“It’s not that, it’s just... I don’t understand how you can possibly get yourself into the situations you do. Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, murdered by your own men, resurrected, the first King in the North since your brother Robb and probably the first to be a bastard, and now you’ve managed to create a soul bond-which let me remind you, hasn’t been done in a millennia-with the only other person in the world who has a tale half as interesting as yours.”

He couldn’t help smirking in spite of himself. “I don’t ask for it, you know.”

“The gods must have a strange sense of humor.” 

And even though Jon knew realistically that nothing had changed, he still went to bed that night with a lighter heart and the faintest hint of a spring in his step. 

 

Dany spent the next morning in bed with a searing headache. She noticed, somewhat warily, when Jon got up and went to break his fast-and then outside, where he spent the rest of the morning brooding and talking with Ser Davos. The farther away he was the more distant his actions became-after a while she could no longer make out much more than his general area, when the night before she’d been aware of every breath he took and movement he made. It wasn’t much control, but she clung to it like a drowning man to a boat. 

Although she explicitly asked for peace and quiet, she was still fussed over by all of her advisors. Missandei barely left her side for more than a few minutes, constantly asking her if she was cold or hot or hungry or thirsty; the answer was always no, because her own personal well being was about the last thing on Dany’s mind. 

“Your Grace, with all due respect...if you ever do something like that to me again I can’t be responsible for the consequences.” They were eating a late lunch of leftover fish on a bed of greens that was only slightly wilted; Missandei was drinking wine but Dany had no wish to take leave of her senses-perhaps ever again. 

The secret itched in her throat, waiting for her to spill it. It would be easy-just to tell Missandei what had happened the night before. But she couldn't, because the story was too strange for her as it was-much less to try explaining it to someone who hadn’t been there. How could she say that she may have indebted herself to a foreign lord through an ancient magic that she hadn’t known existed? “I’m sorry, Missandei. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Well, you’re here now and that’s what matters.” Dany’s smile felt forced, making her feel even more guilty than she already did. 

“What was Lord Snow like this morning?”

Missandei’s eyebrows creased. “Lord Snow? I don’t know. I suppose he was happy to see that you were healing well. He left Dragonstone early this morning; I don’t think he’s returned to the castle yet.” 

_No, he hasn't_. “All right.” 

“Your Grace...pardon me if I cause offense but are you…?”

“Gods, no. I just...wondered.” 

“He’s very comely. I can see why you would-”

“No,” she said firmly. “Lord Snow is an ally. Nothing more.” Missandei still looked unconvinced, but she didn’t press the issue. Which was just as well, because Dany was running out of omissions without descending into outright lies. “I’m sorry I made all of you worry.”

“We thought you were dead. We thought we had lost our queen, our guiding star. Don’t forget that this is much bigger than you...don’t forget how much so many of us depend on you, believe in you. You’re too important to risk, too important to lose.” 

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else she could say, what she could ever do to make up for it all. And she knew that lying about it wasn’t exactly a good place to start...but she couldn’t help it. It was if by ignoring it she could somehow make it go away. “I’m so sorry.” 

She knew Missandei hadn’t quite forgiven her yet, but that was all right. She would do whatever she could to make it up to her. 

 

“You can’t go on ignoring her forever.” 

Jon tried to eat through the pain in his head, not looking at Tyrion. Why had he let himself be roped into a dinner with the Queen’s Hand? He’d known this was coming, and he still didn’t have an answer. “I’m not ignoring her. She needs her rest.”

“Can you really tell what she’s thinking?”  
“...If I try to.” It always felt like an invasion of privacy to even think about her. So he didn’t, even though he was always frighteningly aware of her especially when they were both in the castle. He could tell, for example, that she was eating in her room, looking out at the dragons; he could tell that the throbbing pain in her forehead was only slightly better than it had been the day before. 

“But you don’t try to often.”

“No. I really don’t.” 

“Go talk to her. Go see what you can salvage.” He sighed. “You have to both learn to rely on each other-you are each the other’s last, best hope. A second chance, if you will.”

“You’re frightened for us.”

“Of course I’m frightened for you. Neither of you has the faintest idea of what you’re doing and if what you say is true and the odds are as impossible as you seem to think they are…”

“We don’t stand a chance.” He felt oddly detached because it was true; the wights could kill them, two birds with one stone. 

“So prove me wrong. Prove yourself wrong.” Tyrion stood, his plate untouched. “I’ll be in my study if you need me.” There was a subtle edge to his voice, as if to say _and the two of you will be finding a way to fix this_. 

Jon finished his meal in silence, feeling oddly abashed. He didn’t leave when he was done and the serving girls had come to clear away his plates; in the silence he closed his eyes and tentatively tried to find the connection that had formed in his mind, that was still jarringly unfamiliar when he thought of it. 

It was easier to find than he’d thought it would be; it felt like an invisible tether, and he could feel her on the other end of it. The pain in his head echoed faintly. He focused on that connection, focused on trying a way to touch it and interact with it...he grasped it lightly, gently, and pulled just the smallest bit. It felt ridiculous, but he felt he’d seen too many unusual things in the past months to fully count it out. 

Instantly, he felt a tug back..and then her voice, as clear as if they were in the same room instead of a floor apart. _Yes_? 

_Apologies, your Grace_. He had to concentrate on not forming the words with his lips; he could sense her slide a bookmark into her book and ease it closed, digging her fingernails into the skin of her knee in focused concentration. _I’m experimenting_. 

_Experimenting_? He almost detected a sigh, the weary sigh of the long suffering. _Did Lord Tyrion put you up to this_? 

_Not exactly...but he wasn’t opposed_. 

_I’m sorry. Next time I’ll tell him to come bother me instead_. 

_That’s not necessary. He’s a good man-and he's usually right. I don’t mind_. And he was surprised to find how true it was. The more they ‘talked’ the easier it felt, as if they were simply having a conversation. _How do you feel_? 

_I’ve been better...but I’ve also been worse_. He could feel a touch on the edge of his mind, like fingertips brushing against it. _Much worse_. There was something hesitant in her tone, as if she was afraid to talk to him in this way, so exposed and vulnerable. 

He couldn’t help thinking about the day before, how she’d lain in the bed and seemed impossibly small and vulnerable, her skin as pale as the sheets below her. Her chest, rising and falling shallowly, and the gash on her forehead weeping blood into her hairline. He felt a little stab of pain coming from her and he realized he’d accidentally shared the image. _I’m sorry_. 

_It’s all right. Perhaps I needed to see it anyway_. He drummed his fingers against the table, just for something to do. _Lord Snow_?

_Yes_? 

He could feel her smile faintly, smiling because of him. _I never said thank you_. 

_I did what I had to do, and I don't regret it_. 

He sensed her consciousness pull away, as if she’d left the room. It was a strange feeling, but not an unpleasant one. 

Once he’d retired to his bedroom, he pulled out a sheet of paper and a quill and ink set. He spent most of the night trying to figure out exactly how he would explain this to Sansa.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving everyone! 
> 
> Yes, I know it's a shorter chapter than I would have liked-but I wanted to show you that this story is very much not dead and I'm excited to keep writing it! As many of you probably know, I have a blog for Jonerys prompts on tumblr and I've been writing a lot of those (along with high school and a part time job) and it's been hard to find the time to work on my multichapters too. But hopefully as the new year starts I'll start getting some of my free time back again! 94 Jonerys fics on tumblr though-definitely check them out if you're interested. 
> 
> And I wish I could italicize the thoughts as I would normally do but I'm no good at all the html stuff-so single quotation marks are for the thoughts. I know it's confusing, please bear with me. And again, I'm so sorry for the late update. 
> 
> Things should start to pick up within the next chapter or so! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Daenerys was confined to her bedroom for the next seven days, under a strict watch by Missandei, who told her that if she tried to leave for any reason she’d be locked in. Not that she really wanted to ‘escape’ anyway; her head hurt on and off in sudden flashes of white hot agony, and she spent most of her time sleeping or listening to Missandei read to her in her soft voice. It was a strange feeling, being fussed over like this-but it wasn't an unpleasant one. It felt nice to just rest, without worrying about the world falling apart around her. A couple of times her advisors tried to hold a small council with her but Missandei sent them away, saying the queen needed her rest before anything else. Her visitors were carefully controlled, even Tyrion and Jon. 

Jon tried to stop in once a day at least, even if they only exchanged the barest of pleasantries. Melisandre said there was nothing about the bond that made them absolutely have to be together, but she coached them to spend time together anyway to get accustomed to it. She was gathering all of the information on soul bonds that she could; when Daenerys was well again, she promised that she would teach them both. 

He never asked her how she was feeling. The strangest thing was that he already knew. And she knew too; when he ran his knee into the wall at the bottom of the stairwell she’d felt a sharp, stabbing pain go through her (Missandei had been convinced she was about to have a relapse). Instead, he kept her up to date on the progress of mining the dragonglass; once he gave her a dagger, barely longer than her hand with a hilt carved in the shape of silver dragons. “I had this made for you-it’s your dragonglass, it’s only fair that you would get the first weapon.” 

“Thank you.” She held the dagger experimentally, admiring the way it rested in her palm, cool and smooth. It was light and she didn’t struggle to hold it the way she might have with a longer sword-unwieldy and uneven. And it would fit into the edge of her boot, just out of sight-but not out of reach. 

But she was always aware of him. She knew when he rose and when he fell into bed at the end of the day. She knew when he took his meals and when he went outside to brood the way he so often did. And when they were in the same room it was practically unbearable; every time he moved, shifted, breathed, she was somehow conscious of it. It was more than a bit distracting. 

And she missed her dragons. She’d never gone this long without seeing them, and sometimes at night she could hear them calling out for her. She wanted to go to them, wanted to ride Drogon into the stars...but she knew that to do so would be a bad idea, in her condition. Condition. What an ugly word. 

“Jon Snow wants to see you, your Grace.” 

“Thank you Missandei. Send him in please.” 

When he came in, her eyes flickered to the gash on his head the way they always did-a phantom of her own. Now it was barely more than a sliver. “How do you feel your Grace?” 

“Better. Normal, but they won’t let me leave the room.” 'Does Cersei know what happened?' It seemed better to keep the conversation silent, just in case anyone happened to be listening. 

'As far as we know she does not. Or...she knows that something happened. She doesn’t know that you were injured.'

She thought something very un-queenlike and only realized that Jon had heard it when he snorted. 'Then we’ll just have to make sure that she doesn’t know.'

“Melisandre wants to see us,” he said out loud. “If you’re...well enough. She thinks we should start on our lessons as soon as we can.” 

She nodded. “I’ve done nothing but rest.” She tried to stand, putting a hand on the headboard to help her up. Jon watched her carefully, in case she fell-but she didn’t. It was a small victory, but one that made her feel accomplished nonetheless. “I hope you’ve been finding ways to entertain yourself these last few days. I’m sorry I haven’t been better company.” 

“You needed your rest,” he replied. “I’m glad to know you’re feeling better.” He took a step closer and the physical proximity of him was suddenly almost unbearable; she could hear his blood singing beneath his veins, hear the breath rushing in and out of his lungs. It made her head spin, this sudden nearness of him. 

He extended a hand to guide her but she purposefully turned away. Even in her ‘condition’, she wasn’t a damsel in need of defending-she had to prove it to him. 

The hallways were empty and echoed underfoot as they passed closed door after closed door. Most of the rooms she still hadn’t even been in, and the air hung thick and heavy with disuse and animal piss. Jon stopped at another door that looked identical to all the ones around it and knocked smartly; there was a pause and then the door slid open and Melisandre looked out at them carefully. 

“Your Graces, come in.” She beckoned them in, closing the door behind them. Her room was small and bare, except for the roar of the fire in the grate and the clutter of candles on top of the dresser. Even for Daenerys, it was stiflingly hot. “How do you feel, my Queen?”

“Better, thank you.” She sat on the edge of the bed gingerly. The low light hurt her eyes. “I suppose I owe you thanks, Lady Melisandre.”

Melisandre inclined her head slightly. “Thank Jon Snow. I had nothing to do with it. How far have the two of you explored your mental link?”

Jon wouldn’t look at either of them. “Not very far.” 

“Hmm. I’m surprised.” She produced a tome that looked like it was about to fall apart and dropped it on the bed, causing a cloud of dust to plume up as if the bed hadn’t been slept in. “Perhaps you don’t realize the peculiarity of your situation.”

“I think we’re well aware of that,” Dany replied. 

Melisandre continued on as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “Say something to each other mentally.” 

It was easier to find that link now-her mouth barely moved as she said/thought 'How are you?' 

'I’ve been better your Grace-but I’ve also been worse.' They exchanged a smile that Melisandre pretended she didn’t see. 

“In time, it will become easier and easier-as will the length of distance you can communicate over. What is it now? Feet, rooms? Eventually, she could be in the South and he could be in the North and you would still be able to hear what the other was saying as surely as if they were standing next to you. But it takes practice. You’ll have to spend a lot of time getting used to it, experimenting with it-it will only grow as you do.”

“Will we ever be able to control it?” She thought about how overwhelming his presence was, even now. 

“In time. At first the sensitivity can be quite...acute.” Melisandre touched Jon’s hand, tracing a finger down the side of his palm, and Dany felt the heat on her own hand. “I would advise each of you not to get hurt for a while, or you’ll both feel it.” It happened fast-she pulled out a dagger and made a quick cut across Jon’s palm. He withdrew, nearly crashing into a dresser of candles-and she felt it cut into her palm, biting her lip so she wouldn’t cry out. A line of red had formed on her hand, an imitation of his.

“What was that for?” It wasn’t a deep cut but it was bleeding; Jon wrapped it in his cloak to stop the worst of it. 

Melisandre turned to Dany. “Heal him.” 

“What?” 

“Heal him. An injury as simple as his should be well within your power, especially in these early days. Draw on your own strength and lend some to him.”

She might have been speaking Ghiscari for all the sense she made. “I don’t-”

“What if it had been a deeper cut? You wouldn’t have time to sit here and debate me. His life could rest entirely in your hands.” Melisandre still seemed surprisingly unruffled. “I’m only trying to prepare you for the war to come, your Grace.” 

She took his hand. His cloak had smeared the blood over his palm and she could smell the hot, sweet scent of it. 'My strength?' “I-”

“When you decide you’re looking for it, it’s easier to find,” Jon said quietly. He looked at her for the first time that morning; his eyes were so warm, so trusting-as if he had faith in her that no one else did. “It will feel strange, but...reach out for it.” 

She closed her eyes, feeling foolish. This was madness. Soulbonds couldn’t exist. They were an old wives’ tale, like the Long Night and everything that came with it. Strength wasn’t something that could be grabbed, some invisible thread that she could find…

And then she felt it, pulsing like a second heart. She couldn’t have explained how it was part of her but also part of Jon, how she could sense him in it...but there it was, and once she knew it was there it was easy for her to focus on, easy for her to push it away from her. She heard Jon inhale sharply, and when she opened her eyes his flesh was knitting together before her eyes. Soon there was no indication that he’d ever been cut at all, besides a tiny pink scar at the base of his palm. 

She felt a shiver run through her. If magic wasn’t real, then how could something like that have happened? Maybe this was all a dream that she’d never woken up from. Maybe she was still unconscious. Maybe none of this was real. How could it be real? 

“Daenerys…” His voice was low, hushed, almost reverent. He hadn’t let go of her hand yet and she could feel her fingers trembling. 

She pulled away, feeling suddenly cold-though her hand was still burning where Jon had touched her. “I...I have to go.” She brushed past him to the door, yanking it open so hard she almost fell. The newness of this reality was overwhelming and she sometimes had to make herself breathe, to remember. 

She couldn’t ignore him anymore. She couldn’t ignore this. And if she couldn’t, it meant that he’d truly saved her life in a way that she could never repay. 

She didn’t even look at the Unsullied snapping to attention behind her when she left, walking to her solar and then shutting the door behind her. She had to be alone for a while. 

 

She was afraid. Though he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. 

Melisandre sighed, looking after her with a look of resignation. “She’ll grow used to it. Give her time,” he replied. 

“We don’t have time. We never had time, and now we have even less. The Night King won’t wait for her to accept this. He is coming, and neither of you are in any condition to stop him or his army.” She didn’t sound upset, only resentful. “You shouldn’t have done that.” 

“So I should have let her die? You think that would make things any better?” 

“You don’t understand what you’ve done. You don’t know what you’ve started,” she hissed. “Go talk to her.”

“I can’t-”

“Make her listen. She doesn’t understand the danger at hand.” She seized his hand, digging her fingers into his skin until he winced. “Take her North.”

“Are you insane-” 

“Show her what awaits us all. Show her what only you and her can stop. We’re running out of time, Lord Snow. Soon they will be at Eastwatch.” 

“I can’t take her North. If something happened to her, to either of us...how can it be worth risking all of that for-”

“There’s no choice. She has to know. They all have to know. The longer you wait, the more dangerous things become.” She left the room then, closing the door behind her. Jon found himself alone, with all of the thoughts and fears he’d been trying to avoid. 

The castle suddenly felt too small and he paced the ramparts to the beach again and again until he was barely aware that he was walking at all, until he didn’t realize where he was going...and a loud roar startled him out of his reverie.

They descended from the heavens like scaled angels, blotting out the sun above him-the Queen’s pets, her guards, her children if the tales could be believed. Drogon towered over his brothers, but Viserion and Rhaegal were still massive; he caught his breath, knowing that with one move they could roast him entirely. Rhaegal let out a high pitched trilling sound and loped forward curiously, like a dog might investigate someone new. His head was cocked slightly to one side and he sniffed Jon curiously, until Drogon barked at him sharply and he shrank back. Jon tried to remain calm, even though his heart was beating out of his chest; he had no doubt the dragons could sense fear, and like a wolf they wouldn’t respect someone who was afraid of them. “I’m not afraid.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince them or himself. 

Drogon growled low in his throat and Jon’s heart jumped in fear. “I don’t mean you any harm.” The dragon took a step forward, heavy scaled feet shaking the ground, talons tearing into the soft grass. “I’m not here to hurt you, or your mother.” He was like Ghost. Just bigger, Jon thought. A lot bigger. 

The dragon leant down, hot breath rustling his hair. For a long moment they stood there, man and beast facing each other down with neither willing to give an inch. 

Jon made himself look directly into his eyes-huge and dark, seeming to swallow the entire world in their depths. “I have to make her understand. What’s out there...it’s dangerous. And it’s coming for all of us. But I can’t stop it without her help.” 

He didn’t get a response of course-other than the other dragons circling closer to see what was going on and Drogon snapping at them to get back. But he couldn’t help feeling that something had changed and he allowed himself to relax, just slightly, as they flew away into the night.


End file.
